Dark Wings, Light Feathers
by XxAssassinxX
Summary: Rome, 1570. Young apprentice Ebizio Aguila is thrown into a war that has literally been wiped from Brotherhood history books. He learns that even though someone or something seems cold or dark, it isn't always true- and vice versa. Rated M for language, gore, and sexual themes.
1. A Curious Beginning

**Hello! This is my first fanfiction in a ****_long_**** while, so please be patient with me as I am still learning. I have had this idea from a while ago, from a Roleplay that is still going on. This takes place in Rome, 1570, and it focuses on a young assassin apprentice that faces many troubling times and even more hard decisions.**

**Have fun reading it!**

**~ January 15th, 1570 ~**

It was bitter cold; the kind of cold that worked its way under your clothes, no matter how many layers you put on. Rome wasn't freezing very often, but every once in a while, there were freak blizzards that cast havoc on the large town. There were more bodies of the poor to pick up from the sides of the streets, children, women, men... The frost did not discriminate amongst age, sex, gender, or nationality; no, it wrapped its icy claws around you no matter what, and squeezed and squeezed until there was no life left.

Rome was usually a very colorful city. In summer, there were many, many flowers brought in from other places, like pansies and orchids. But not now. The flowers were dead. The people were dying. But they... Oh, no, they would always live. They would always be watching. They would always be alive. In the streets, in the fields.

That was why everyone came to them. Oh, yes, men, women, and children all of the same. Much like the griping winter, the Creed did not discriminate. If you were nifty with your hands, if you knew how to tend to wounds, they would take you in. Even if you were good at nothing, they would train you to be good at something.

"Ebizio..?"

The thoughts of winter and of the Brotherhood were wisked away from Ebizio's head. He was comfortable here, sitting in the large headquarters, safe and warm. But the raging blizzard would not make him feel safe. The thin, slick fingers of icy cold would finger their way through the cracks in the building, much like a man would finger a woman. But the warm sounds of the giggles and gasps that the whore would give off could not compare to the loud, mournful moans that the wind howled out in the nights...

"Ebizio!"

He couldn't take it anymore. Sure, the little corner next to the small fireplace they had was cozy, but he couldn't be at peace when someone continuously called his name. Especially when they were loud "Ebizio!"s when they were supposed to be quiet.

Ebizio had had his legs drawn in, his chin on his knees while he looked at the somewhat large doors leading outside into the cold. He was wondering when the storm would end, so he could go out and do what men did: wenching, drinking, and fighting. That was what he always liked to do. Perhaps he had gotten it from his father, Ruslan Aguila, who did the same thing even when his mother told him not to.

Raising his dull green eyes, he looked up at his friend. A handsome fellow, he knew. Brunette, curly hair draped down from his scalp to his blue eyes, and he had already grown a thin layer of stubble starting from his chin. His smile was easily recognizable. "Rodrigo." Ebizio let the name play on his tongue, lifting his head and straightening out his aching and cold legs. While Rodrigo Sartor was easy on the eyes and thin, Ebizio Aguila was like looking at a wet, muddy rock. Ugly, or so he thought, and huge. Despite being four years younger than Rodrigo, Ebizio already towered over him. Citizens usually thought that Rodrigo was fifteen and he was nineteen, not vice versa as it should be. "... Why are you bothering me so early in the morning?" Ebizio mused gruffly, rubbing his head and feeling his coarse, dark gray hair under his rough mitt for a hand. "... God damn it, you fucking do this to me every day."

Sartor frowned down at him, crossing his arms. Ebizio knew that he meant to look intimidating, but even in his frown he had the air of a smirk. "You asshole." he mewed out pitifully. "... Already cursing at me, aren't you?"

"It was because I was thinking."

"'Bout whut?"

Ebizio rolled his eyes. "... Things."

With a heave of a sigh, Ebizio looked up at Rodrigo. His light brows were furrowed over his lighter eyes, and his lips pursed as he stared past his shoulder. "... I'm thinking about things too. People always think about things. But you know what kind of things I'm thinking about? Ale. And women. You can't fuck a woman in the Creed. You know why? Because then she'll be with child and you'll want nothing to do with it, and they'll whip ya. And you can't drink much either. Because they'll whip ya if you go staggering all over vomiting your innards."

"... Why do you always think about screwing around and drinking until you spew all over the place?"

Rodrigo gave a roll of his shoulders and left Ebizio without an answer. His gaze began to roam around the shelter. The Roman Headquarters was not very tall, but it was large nonetheless. Draped on the walls were the Brotherhood's insignias, white on bright red, one on each side of the room. There were tables to eat on, and areas to huddle together and play cards or gossip, but it was bleak anyway. Gray walls, gray floors. It was even grayer as the torches cast their lights on the stone, making it seem that they were in some sort of dimly lit prison. "I want to go outside." Rodrigo complained.

"Then go outside and freeze your ass off." Ebizio was sick of Rodrigo's talk, and shot up from his seat. Sartor looked at him with his wide eyes and backed away. "... I'm going to find Christi." with that, he stomped away, grumbling curses. _Rodrigo is such a_ _bother_, he thought. _How I became friends with him, I don't have a shilling of an idea_.

He wandered through the place, his soft heeled boots thudding quietly against the stone floor. Some of the others watched him. He knew it. He could feel their eyes on his back, and he had to hold himself back from spinning around and yelling at them. Ebizio hated when they stared at him. He always felt like they despised him for being Creed-born. It was known that Street-borns, or adopted assassins, gathered more respect than the Creed-borns, since Street-borns knew the suffering of starvation or the bite of cold and disease more than the pampered Creed-borns. Aguila was Creed-born; his father was the cruel Russian- Italian Ruslan Aguila and his mother was the pretty Alma Di Lello, and he was birthed within these very walls.

But Ebizio was not looking for his mother, and his father had died in another cold snap a few months ago. He didn't care. His father always abused him. Called him names. Kicked him when he was down, since the age of six. Yelled at him, touched him. Ebizio ground his teeth until they hurt, trying not to remember the uncomfortable sensation of his father's hands massaging his crotch, or groping at his rear. When he died, it was the happiest day of his life. He hoped that he was burning in hell.

Finally, he found the strange reddish hair of his mentor in the women's barracks. Ebizio felt uncomfortable going there because there were so many older women, and they were hissy at times. Sometimes men went in there in secret to sleep with women in their own territory, but Ebizio was not as cunning as that. Christi Rosato was reading a book in her bunk; strange, for not even Ebizio could read. It would be too embarrassing to tell her, so he left it at that. "... Hello, Mentor Rosato." Ebizio said in a monotone voice, but he was still polite, walking up to her and bowing. "... I am ready for my training today."

Christi turned up her hazel eyes toward him, and pouted. "... Ebizio, would you not rather wait out the storm than train in here? I do not think that the assassins would like it if we sparred in the common." those words were something that Ebizio did not want to hear, but with her voice like honey, it made his heart melt a bit. Amusement lit up her eyes at Ebizio's flustered blush, and she punched his arm playfully. "... Tell you what. If you take one of Master Xanthe's sweet breads, and bring it back, you'll prove to me that you're great at stealth. Okay?"

And so, Christi sent Ebizio off with a burning desire to impress her. He left the women's barracks and slunk over to the back of the large common, to where a flight of stairs led down into the basement. The masters and mentor slept down there in their own rooms, the lucky bastards they were. But the stairs were creaky, and Ebizio knew that walking down them would be too risky, and he would be caught with all of that noise. Bunching up his long, white cloak in his right hand, he leapt the flight of stairs, and landed at the base with a thunk. It was still noisy, but it was less than the creaky stairs...

He crept down the dark hallway, using his eyes and hands to navigate his way to the female master's room. The first room to his left was Master Anya's, he could tell from the cuts she had put in the old oak door.

"... think it's worth..."

The voice came from Master Anya's room. Ebizio paused, frowning deeper than the pout he had on his face. Of course it was Anya's voice, but she was speaking to someone.

"... course it is... in middle east... get it... easy..."

That was Castiel Savetti. He was a senior assassin with the most senior wits he knew, and he was speaking to Anya.

"... dangerous to have it there..." that was Xanthe Giannantonio. He could tell from her louder voice. "... Templars will get it before us... Too dangerous to have it there... We have to get it..."

Ebizio took a step, but the floor scuffed under his shoe. He froze. Suddenly, the three assassins in the room stayed quiet. For a moment, he thought that they had heard him. He could only think about Christi's disappointed face and Rodrigo's laughter and snarks as he was dragged from downstairs at the hands of Master Xanthe. But the voices continued after a while, however, they were much quieter. They _did_ hear him. So Ebizio rushed to Xanthe's room and opened the door. The room was even darker, but the candle on her desk helped, and he went to the large hunk of wood. He lunged for the bowl that gleamed teasingly at him, filled to the top with sweet bread, and grabbed a loaf. His elbow brushed the table and scattered papers to the ground, but all he thought about was leaving before they caught him. So with the loaf under his arm, he left the room, closing the door in a way that it didn't make much sound, and ran up the creaky wooden stairs on his tip toes.

_What were they talking about?_

Curiousity nagged him as he went back to Christi, still in her bunk with the book. She gave him a toothy smile, and took the bread from his outstretched hands. "Good job, Ebizio." she told him as she sank her teeth into the sweet and warm bread. "You'll be a great assassin, one day. I can feel it in my bones." and then she ripped the bread in half, and gave him a piece. He took it without thinking about it. "But remember. There is one thing that is different about a great assassin and a great bootlicker. And that is because they take very different paths, young apprentice."

Ebizio sunk his teeth into the nutty and honeyed loaf. It was sickenly sweet and made his stomach feel horrible and his mind clouded.


	2. After Snowfall

**I see that I have to make my story a little longer, since the first chapter came up a little short. I will do so, however. Maybe I'll add a little more of Ebizio's thoughts, a little more of his actions and more neutral moments between everything.**

**Also, I'm typing all of this on my phone, so don't get angry with grammar mistakes or typos. D8**

**Please review and give me critiques! Also, if you have requests, I'll most likely do them. No yaoi! Or yuri. Or whatever. XD**

**~ January 17th, 1570 ~**

The day was cold, but at least the snow had stopped falling. Ebizio's breath billowed in front of his face, reminding him of puffy clouds in a sunny sky. Oh, how he hated winter! It coiled around you, made you hungry and made you shiver and mewl like a young babe. He rubbed his gloved yet freezing hands together as he looked ahead with his cold eyes. His boots crunched in the snow, and at times he sunk so deep into snow drifts that the bundles of white got into his breeches, and wet the inside of his thighs. "Ha! You look like you fucking pissed yerself!" Rodrigo laughed, walking beside him. Ebizio growled playfully and shoved him with his hands, and Rodrigo screamed and fell ass first into a huge snow bank. The older apprentice's limbs flailed like fish out of water as he squawked curses at him. "A-asshole!" Sartor cried, and Ebizio boomed with laughter.

"That's for bothering me all throughout the snowstorm." Ebizio wheezed as he pulled his friend out of the snow. Rodrigo's stubble was glazed with frost as he staggered to his feet, and he looked paler than ever. His teeth chattered and his blue eyes were wide. There was a soft rustle as he rubbed his arms and his gloved hands. Ebizio chuckled as he walked ahead, shoving his hands into his armpits. "... Where exactly are we going?"

"To a new brothel called the White Leaf. Surprised me, cause every brothel I've been too has the word rose in it."

A brothel? Christi would kill him. He had been caught by her once or twice, and it was horrible. Ebizio wouldn't eat for days. He would spend his time in the book room. Staring at those dashes and squiggles! Because of her! Grinding his teeth, he followed after his friend. Perhaps he could warm up a little. A whore under him would be very nice every once in a while. Unfortunately, not many people thought that way. Ebizio fell into a worried silence as they walked across the white blanketed town. It was a pretty thing to look at, he knew. It was times like these where the Creed grew closer together, and relied on each other more. Hard times raised harder people. At least that was what he thought.

Soon, they were upon the brothel. Ebizio pulled off his gloves as he walked in. The smell of incense hit his nose and made him feel better, especially when he saw the women. They were so beautiful, so precious. At least that was what his "friend" thought, and even then, he was starting to get a little uncomfortable in his breeches. The whores wore pretty silk dresses that clung close to their bodies, and even seeing them out in the streets made him want to take them right there and then. But that was inappropriate. No, he couldn't think of that. Although, as he thought of that, he found himself more and more wound up. Blushing, he tried to cover himself up, not wanting to be laughed at. Of course, that kind of thing was normal here, where you screwed women for a price. Casting his gaze to Rodrigo, Ebizio was not surprised that he had already taken a seat on a plush couch, and a woman was on top of him. There were soft, wet sounds coming from the couple, and it was obvious they were kissing. He wasn't one for going to brothels with friends... By himself, yes. He didn't want to see his friends get aroused right in front of his face; it was kind of awkward. Ebizio took a seat across from Rodrigo, and watched as his hands roamed up and down the ripe, young body.

"Hello." Ebizio looked up at a voice. As he expected, it was a young whore, not younger than him. Her eyes were a pretty shade of brown, and her lips were pink. At once he thought of her naked, and thought of himself fucking her. She was a sweet blond; her hair was almost silver. "... Are you with someone already?"

"No," Ebizio muttered casually, putting an arm on the back of the couch. He was about to say something else, but then the woman plopped on his lap. Hiccuping in surprise, he found himself feeling even more awkward in his pants. Oh God, she probably felt it, she probably felt it and Rodrigo would know... "A-ah, I don't know about this..." if Sartor did it, why couldn't he? But it was still embarrassing... Small fingers worked their way to under his breeches, and groped. "_Hrrrrrrrrmmmm..."_

At the sound, the girl giggled. Ebizio was sure that he was going to explode out of embarrassment. He was stiff under the girl's touch, while he heard Rodrigo's muffled moans from behind her. Never again... "... Are you shy?" the girl murmured, still gripping down there. "You don't have to do this, you know." there was a pitying smile on her face. Ebizio hated pity. Even on a pretty face like her's. With a shake of his head, the girl slipped her hand out from his pants and leant over to kiss him. Her lips were soft, and she tasted so much like sweet tea... He found himself relaxing, melting into it and falling limp. His heart slowed and he wished this moment lasted forever. But the girl pulled away all too soon. "... What is your name?" she asked calmly.

"... Ebizio..." he answered, out of breath.

"My name is Bianca." the girl murmured sweetly. Ebizio could tell why she was named so. Her skin was as white as snow, and her lips a pale pink. She was beautiful, but everyone said that about whores. Ebizio gave a weak smile as she kissed him again, and finally his hands roamed much like Rodrigo's. Between her thighs and down her bodice. Up and down her legs. To her stomach. His mouth to her neck. But after a while, he grew weary, and pulled away from licking and sucking at her ivory neck. The girl laughed louder. "Would you like a drink?" she asked. When Ebizio bobbed his head, the girl waved over someone. It was another whore, uglier than anyone he had ever seen, and she had bottles of wine on a tray. Bianca took one and handed it over to Ebizio. With a smile, he accepted it, and popped it open. "... How old are you, Ebizio?"

"Fifteen."

"That's a young age. I suppose I shouldn't complain. I'm thirteen."

Ebizio grinned. At least she wasn't older than him. That would of been awkward. And even more so if she was taller than him. He would have to be looking up! As he drank, he wondered how she got to be here. Maybe in a cold snap like two days ago, she was tired of being hungry? Whores treated each other like family, or so he heard.

"You're an assassin, aren't you?" Bianca asked, her swift and nifty fingers working their way into his pants ago. He spat out some of the wine when he felt her touch, and swatted her hand away. She giggled again, and tipped her head. Her eyes were locked on his face, but he was looking for Rodrigo. He wasn't on the sofa anymore. Neither was his whore. "It's okay. Assassins are partners with the whores. A lot of them come here. And I could tell from your cloak."

Ebizio shrugged. He supposed that he shouldn't deny it. He was dressed in the colors after all: red on white. He had the gray hood of an apprentice, but that was all the difference from a basic assassin. Bianca laughed softly, and traced circles on his chest. "Did you get picked up from the streets or were you born in the group?" Bianca asked with a soft smile on her soft lips.

"I was born in it." Ebizio covered up his frown with the lip of the bottle. He drank deeply, and by the time he was halfway done with the wine, he was drunk. It was much, much stronger than he expected. "Wish I wasn't though... You see, assassins born on the street have more respect than assassins born in the group. Street-borns know the suffering of a hungry belly, while the Creed-borns have always been suckling milk from their mother's breast. They have always been safe."

"I suppose I would be jealous too." Bianca said with a tip of her head. "But I would also be proud. I'd have more experience."

Ebizio smirked.

After a while, he was done with his bottle. Bianca rode up on him more than ever, and he swore that he was getting too loud. That was why Bianca took him to an empty bedroom. The bed was plush, a deep, blood red, and laced with silk and ornaments. Candles were lit here as well, mostly around the bed. Bianca pushed the drunk Ebizio onto the bed and undid his clothes...

**~ January 18th, 1570 ~**

It was a wild night, full of lust, full of want. After their endeavors, Ebizio was left panting on his back, and Bianca had curled up next to him. She twisted whatever chest hair he had on him around her finger, and Ebizio relished in her warmth. He could feel everything. He could feel his loins aching, and his hips burning with weariness. How she had straddled him, how she had experience, how she did everything and anything to make him shout in pleasure...

But now it was morning. Ebizio woke up on his back, and his groin burned with pain more than ever. He was sticky with sweat. But Bianca was still there, and she was snoring softly. It was kind of cute, but no smile came across his face. He looked down at her, and stroked her body, his hands coming up between her thighs again. She murmured something in her sleep and shifted position. Ebizio smiled for once, and got up from the bed. He tugged on his shirt, and pulled on his tunic. His body was aching and roaring with a warm, radiating pain.

He trudged down the stairs to the first floor, where the earliest customers had the first pick of the freshest whores. Ebizio looked about Rodrigo, and found him locking lips with the whore he had last night. Ebizio leant against the railing, head pounding with a hangover, as he watched his friend put the florins down the girl's bodice. The girl giggled all of the time he paid her. "Rodrigo!" he called. "Come on!"

The man grumbled a curse as he separated from the whore, and Ebizio left a bag of florins for Bianca. He gave it to the boss so she would not "lose" it, and walked outside. The morning was worse than the last, and Ebizio found himself shivering wildly. His teeth chattered and his knees knocked together. Rome wasn't supposed to be this cold! He couldn't wait for the warmth. Where the whores' dresses stuck closer to their bodies and it was like they were not wearing clothes at all!

His eyes traveled to the snow drifts, and found himself thinking of Bianca again. He wondered how she would be like in a hot summer day. Would you see every crease of her body under her sweat soaked dress? He was getting himself riled up again, and Rodrigo seemed to notice. The man was laughing, looking down at his pants. "You okay, Aguila?" Rodrigo asked with a smirk.

"... My... My body is acting weird..." Ebizio stated shakily. "It... It doesn't want to relax."

"Don't worry about it. I know the perfect way to fix it."

"And what is that?"

Rodrigo smirked more and brought him close, arm around his shoulders. He whispered into his ear. "Men usually relieve themselves when that happens, but this is a better way." Ebizio listened intently. "Cold bath!"

With that, Ebizio was face first on a snow drift, gasping in shock. The cold was on his face! It was so... It was so cold! He pulled his face away, but a hand gripped at his hair and shoved it back in again. He let out a "mmmph!" as he flailed. Soon, he was able to get Rodrigo in the snow as well, and the two hungover friends rolled about, punching each other playfully. Ebizio clung to his curly hair and Rodrigo hung on to his nipples under his clothes. They were making more noise than ever.

Ebizio found that Rodrigo holding on to his little nubs was more painful than he thought, so he ripped away with an over exaggerated cry. He rolled so he could get some distance in between them, and grabbed a bunch of snow. Grabbing Rodrigo by the hair again, he shoved the bundle into his face, and laughed loudly as he flailed and screamed. That was what he loved about Rodrigo. He was fun when he wasn't being an annoying asshole. The two grabbed snow and chucked it at each other, booming curses and calling each other names. Ebizio found himself grabbing a huge load of snow, but it was difficult to dislodge from the ground. He gave a heave as Rodrigo sent a snowball at his face, making his grayish hair dusted with the white, cold powder. Suddenly, with one last jerk, the snow came apart with a _c-craaack! _There wassomething hard in the bundle, and hebrushed off the snow to revealsomething grayish pink. Was that... "S-stop," he told Rodrigo, and the older apprentice, sensing his concern, paused. Ebizio furrowed a thick, dark brow as he brushed the rest of the snow off of the item, and gaped in horror as he sat what it was.

It was a hand. A severed hand.

The fingers were curled in such a painful way that it made Ebizio's own hand ache, and the blood had long since frozen. None leaked out into the snow, but the thing had such a disgusting smell on it that it made him gag. The forearm bones were sticking out at the end, painfully broken off the arm. Ebizio had done that, he knew, but there had to be a body under the snow. Even then, he saw the tinge of pink in the usual white fluff. "... I-I think there's a body down there," he gasped out to Rodrigo. His friend's jaw dropped, and the two went to the gap where Ebizio had torn out the snow. They dug and dug, and Ebizio's heart was working overtime. What had happened? Was it a man, a woman, one of their own down there? He didn't want to see their face. But as he thought this, they came upon the rest of the body. It was a man, his face awfully swollen. His eyes were gouged out, and someone had jammed rocks down his throat. Shame, he was young, with handsome brown hair that... "... Oh my God," Ebizio gasped, pulling away. "... It's... It's Friedrich."

Friedrich was Rodrigo's mentor of German origins. A heavy drinker with a golden heart. Ebizio had liked him, but... Now... Seeing him like this...

"_Nooooooooo_..." Rodrigo's voice was much like a dying howl. "_**Noooooooooooooooooooooo**_!"

Ebizio could tell that Rodrigo's voice was shaky. He threw his eyes on him and saw salty tears stream down his cheeks and melt some of the ice particles on his chin hair. For a moment, Ebizio could not believe that his friend was crying. But he was. "... We have to take him back..." he told his life long buddy, taking him by the shoulders and shaking him. His head lolled, and he looked dead himself if not for his screams and shouts of agony. A mentor-apprentice relationship was nearly unbreakable. Rodrigo had the right to feel that way. To act that way. His heart broke a bit as he watched Sartor, the friend that laughed and made him laugh with him whether he had a bad day or not.

When the guards stopped and began to grow suspicious, Ebizio knew it was time to go. He pulled Friedrich's carcass from the snow, and threw it over his shoulder. The smell was worse now, and with his hangover, it was hell. Ebizio made sure to take the hand as well, and lugged it off. He sure hoped that Sartor was following; he looked over his empty shoulder and saw that he was, at a distance.

After a few minutes of walking, Ebizio's face had turned sickly green, and he was holding back the vomit. Finally, they had come home after a day of wenching, but he was not as happy as he thought he would be. He stepped inside the headquarters, and the assassins stared at the body that he carried on his shoulder. He did not care for them, but he heavily minded the smell of the rotting body. They came up to him, screaming, demanding answers from the sick apprentice. Ebizio really tried to hold back the vomit, he swallowed it back down several times. But the last time it came it with such a force that he could no longer hold it back, and he spewed onto the ground. He felt weak, sick, defenseless, useless... The room was spinning, the screams and cries and shouts of disgust and mourning all crowded into one monotone voice. He dropped Friedrich's body, and collapsed face first into his own vomit. He felt the warmth and stickiness and wetness of it on the side of his face before he fell into a void of unconsciousness.


	3. Surprises Aren't Always Nice

**The last chapter was so hard to write. :c Don't worry, I'll be trying harder and harder now!**

**I don't know how to reply to reviews, but thanks to Cara for saying that this was a cool story! :3**

**~ January 18th, 1570 ~**

Aguila woke up with a jolt.

There was something warm and soft under his head. It cushioned his throbbing skull, making him feel... Less hung over and less sick than he really was. All he remembered was going to a brothel, finding a hand, and passing out in a puddle of his own puke while everyone spoke wildly around him. But now... He was in his cot, staring at the ceiling above his head. It was gray, a disgusting gray that he was always used to. Ebizio raised his hand and pressed it against his face; it felt cold against his wrinkled up skin, and he felt the creases of his stressed frown, and his furrowed brow under his fingers. There was no noise around him at all, which was strange, because there was always noise in the barracks.

Men boasting of valiant victories in missions and battles, and about "snagging that whore on the way back here". Apprentices chirped quietly in the corner, speaking over training exercises and their mentors. But now... Everything was quiet. It was like sitting in a church.

Ebizio groaned as he sat up in his bed, pushing aside his semi-long, grayish black hair from his face. He hated it being long, but he was just too lazy to cut it. Maybe he would ask someone to do so. Planting two feet on the ground and stretching out his legs, standing up, he struggled to maintain his balance. _Where is everyone? They're usually here... _A lute played in the common, strumming a long and sad song, while people conversed quietly. Although, there was no one _there, _with_ him..._

_Alas... There never is no one with me... Even now, when I am sick on my own weakness..._

A dizzy spell hit him, and Ebizio fell backwards on his bed. What was this..? Why was he feeling so? It irritated him. He had to get up, he had to move around. Help with Friedrich's body... And comfort his friend in his time of need. But no, he was here on this fucking bed, dizzy, sick... Because of what? Because he was a mewling babe that was ripped from his mother's breast. That was why. Grinding his teeth so much that it hurt, he adjusted himself so he was in a proper position to sleep. He rolled on his side to face the wall, he let his eyes close, and forced himself to drown out the whimpering lute and the whispering people.

**_~ A few hours later... ~_**

Sleep was a bastard. First of all, it grabbed you out of nowhere. It dragged you into its depths of black pitch, and sung you such a beautiful, sweet song. And for once in a man's troubled life, he was filled with warm breast milk again, and nodding off in his mother's arms as she sung him an Italian lullaby. Although, some men did not wish to sleep. Some would tell you that if they did, they would be sent into horrible nightmares. Others would say that they would dream such beautiful dreams that they would cry when they left that world. But Ebizio dreamt no dreams at all. And when he woke, he was being shaken awake.

Someone- a woman -was calling his name sweetly, so he opened his clear olive eyes and looked up. The face was blurry, but he could make out a tumble of jet black hair, and beautiful azure eyes. They were so blue it was like staring into a cloudless summer sky. Her mouth was like a pale, pale pink, but then again, everyone's skins and mouths were pale in winter. A flash of teeth, and Ebizio returned the soft, toothy grin. _Alma..._

"Oh, Ebizio! You're awake." even though Alma's smile was present on her triangular and delicate face, it was obvious that there was sadness in her voice. Of course, many people were sad because of poor Friedrich Schwarz. Some say he fell over, dead cold, in the storm. Others said that no animal would rip his eyeballs out of his sockets in a freak blizzard. They immediately pointed the finger at the Templars, or so he heard as his mother went on and on, speaking rapidly to him. Her fingers stroked his hair and he allowed another smile to come across his face. He loved her. He would die without her. "Oh, Ebizio, you're growing a beard! I like it." Ebizio allowed his hand to come across his jaw and chin. There was stubble there and he knew that it was dark hair covering the lower portion of his face. "You'll get all of the ladies with that face. But you need to learn to smile more." Alma was always a smiler, a singer, a dancer, an instrumentalist. She played the lute, the flute, the lyre, and the harp. In fact, the Brotherhood said that his father had gotten with her because her fingers were nimble at stroking the strings of the lute and lyre and harp... Although it wasn't those strings she was stroking at night...

"... I wanted to tell you something! Something I found out a few days ago. But you were out training. Or doing something." what could be so important that Alma had to come in the men's barracks? It was true that he did not see her often, because he was an apprentice, and apprentices worked harder than most. Alma's eyes sparkled in such a way that it touched Ebizio's heart, and he allowed a small rumble to come from his chest. A chuckle? That was rare in itself, he thought. Even though he laughed a bit yesterday. "... ... I'm pregnant." his face sank then. What..? "... Now, Ebizio, I know that you didn't love your father... And I knew what he did to you... But..." Alma gave him her pretty smile. "... He loved me... And he loved you... And he gave me a child, a handsome child... You. And now he has given me another one..." Ebizio still remained silent, staring at her. It seemed she knew that that his temper was rising again. She took his hand and patted it. "... When he died in November... He was in his deathbed and he asked for you... But you would not come close to him..."

"He touched me," Ebizio growled through grit teeth, and glowered up at his mother. That was what he hardly did. Look at his mother like that. Hate her. Want to shove his fist down her throat. "... He grabbed my cock and said dirty things in my ear. He... He frightened me..."

"He was sick!" Alma cried desperately. There were tears glimmering in her eyes, and her smile had faded from her face. She was always obsessed with Ruslan, always in his bed, always pleasuring him... And where was he? He was sparring at the age of ten. He was out in the streets at three in the morning, sparring, training with Rosato, and she was under him... "He was sick in the head, Ebizio. He told me."

"While he was fucking you in the ass?" Ebizio asked angrily, standing up from the bed. The abrupt change sent his head swimming, and he tottered to the side. This made him more enraged than before. "While you were sucking his cock and swallowing his seed?"

The words had gone sour in his mouth when he saw his mother's hurt face. Alma's eyes had glazed over, the cloudless sky had grown dark with storm clouds. "... ... I have nothing to say to you..." her voice was as misty and foggy as her gaze. "... You... I hope that God gives you what you deserve..."

As his mother walked away, Ebizio thought about what he had just said. His mouth tasted like wretch more than ever, and he had just realized that he had a fever. He raised a hand to his head and felt the heat come off of his skin. Or maybe it was just a blush? A blush of embarrassment? Of hate, of anger? She would never understand. Alma always loved his father; the day that he died, Alma's cries could be heard throughout all of the headquarters. She cried for days on end, screaming about how that was her fault. Ebizio did not utter one complaint. He could finally sleep easily now.

But now it was all ripped away with the news of a small, whining baby brother or sister. He couldn't be a brother. He would hold the babe in his arms and he would drop it. Accidentally feed it something and have it die. And if the thing lived, he couldn't look down on it as it smiled and called him "big brother". Oh, no, he didn't have the heart for it. His heart was small and shriveled up. How could he have someone clinging to his leg, screaming at him for food when their mother was gone? _God damn_ _you, Ruslan, _Ebizio thought angrily as he stalked to the common. _More than He has_ _already_.

The common was loud with conversation. Assassins mingled in corners, arms crossed, and leaning close to the people they spoke with. Their beady eyes shone from under their hoods, and Ebizio was surprised at the look in their eyes. He saw Castiel leaning against the wall, watching the area closely. His short, brunette hair was only slightly visible from under his hood, and his caramel eyes were as cold as ice. Near him was Xanthe, her hood down. She was whispering something to him, and Ebizio's ears strained to pick up their conversation. Ever since that measly mission, where he had heard their voices, he was curious. "... Xanthe, really. Do you really think that someone was in your room?" Castiel asked in his smooth, low voice.

"I swear it." Xanthe wasn't wearing her hood, and her long, curly hair streamed down her shoulders in golden waterfalls. "... Someone was in my room, going through my stuff. Those papers I gathered up, that information... It was all strewn across the floor."

"... It was just a rat," Castiel rested a hand on her fragile shoulder. "... Now, come. Let us get drinks and discuss what we are going to do about Friedrich."

Ebizio pretended that he was not listening as Xanthe and Castiel walked past him. His heart was leaping out of his chest; they knew that he had been there. He had to be more quiet on missions. But who could blame him? Ebizio was actually pretty good for an apprentice. He walked around, looking for his friend, Rodrigo. There were was a sea of black and brown haired heads, which made it hard because Rodrigo was a brunette. Sure, there were some dashes of blonds and reds... But... His friend was not a ginger or a blond.

After a while of looking, Ebizio gave up. He leant against a wall, near where some children were gathering. Innocents... Wait until they grew up. Wait until they had their first kill. Alas, the babbling of rabbits and foxes and ponies and puppies they saw in the streets were cute. Why couldn't he be that young again? Talk about a fluffy furred cat rather than about fucking a woman or slitting the throat of a man he never met? But they squeaked as they sat down and complained as they were hungry... And his mother was there too. Her face was tear streaked as she sat down in front of the children; obviously she had been crying since she had told him the news. It only made him want to send his fist into her stomach and kill the child once and for all. The thought turned as distasteful as the words that he said before, and he felt his face flush. _You're such an asshole._

"... Have you all heard the stories of Altair and Ezio?" his mother was asking the children. They perked and turned their eyes to her. Ebizio knew the stories, however... "... Let me tell you about them. The first man, Altair, was an assassin of Masyaf; he was the best assassin that ever lived. He was a handsome and great man in his youth, but he performed such cruel acts in the Creed that his high rank was stripped away, and he was once again treated like an apprentice. He climbed his way back to glory, and once again knew that the laws of the Creed were important, and that one should always listen to them.

"But his Mentor thought differently. He had something called the Apple of Eden in his hands, a horrible, horrible thing it was. It controlled the minds and bodies of the people around him, and he could imagine anything and it would come true. When Altair found out that his Mentor had grown corrupt, he aimed to take him down. But his Mentor was stronger. He sent the whole Creed after him, a whole legion of white cloaks against one man. With his friends, he took them all down, and faced his leader once and for all. He killed the old man, and became Mentor himself at a very young age... And married a beautiful woman..."

Ebizio thought of Altair, standing there on a balcony in all of his glory, woman in one hand and Apple in the other. Standing on a balcony that looked over all of the Brotherhood of Masyaf as they cheered his name and threw flowers and gifts. But Altair's end was less happy than that... Of course, his mother omitted that part, and continued on to another story. "... This story is about Ezio Auditore... He was from Florence, but he was Italian, like all of you. He too, became an assassin, after the evil Borgias killed the male part of his family. After traveling to Venice and Forli and other places among that, he came across the Apple of Eden. And with this Piece of Eden, he defeated Rodrigo Borgia and..."

Ebizio was growing sick. He tried to listen to the story, but drowned out most of it. His fingers curled into fists, gripping at his clothes, and he glared at the children. They seemed very entertained. His mother was occupied, they would not notice if he stomped away. Taking a step forward, he stalked away, head low as Alma purred out the last words to Ezio's story in Constantinople.

_"Then he married a beautiful woman, and had children, and everyone loved him..."_

**~ January 19th, 1570 ~**

"Archery?"

"Archery."

The pretty ginger haired woman gave him the smile that made his heart shudder and melt. Her eyes danced and sparkled teasingly at him... Ebizio felt his face flush as Christi shoved the bow and quiver in his hands, and grinned more. "Shoot."

His morning had been quite curious. After waking up from his sleep, Ebizio had went to eat break his fast, which he usually did with Rodrigo. As he picked up his meal (a small, shriveled apple and a loaf of black bread), he searched desperately for his friend, with no success. There had been no sign of him, no laugh, no chuckle or mention of him. For a moment in his wild mind, he had thought that Rodrigo had been a figment of his imagination all of this time, but when he asked Master Anya, she said that he went to get some air._ I miss him, the dolt._

"That's great. But I don't know how to shoot an arrow. Why can't we go and spar like always?" Ebizio looked at the weapon. It was pretty, delicately decorated. Made out of maple wood, there was an area where it was painted with black and bits of gray. The arrows, painted in the same manner, were adorned with dappled owl feathers. "Not to mention that arrows are a coward's weapons."

"Now, don't say that." Christi said with a grin. "Altair Ibn La Ahad said that poison is a coward's weapon."

"Yet we still use it."

"Yes. We do." Christi gave him another of her grins. It seemed she knew that was his weakness. "And Ebizio Aguila said that arrows were a coward's weapons. Yet we still use them." she walked behind him with a light, jingling laugh. "... Now... Strap the quiver to your back." she helped him do so with lithe fingers, strapping the thing so it wouldn't fall down. Her hands ghosted up his torso, a touch so light that Ebizio wouldn't have noticed without her giggle. "... You're getting a little chubby there, Aguila. Suck in that gut." Ebizio did so in a quick breath, uncomplaining. "I'm just joking." Rosato laughed louder and clapped him on the shoulder. "... Now. String an arrow like so... Yes! Like that. Now pull, aim, and let go. Remember to pull all of the way! The string is taut, I know. I actually made this one. Now, _pull_-"

The string was hard to pull back. Ebizio's muscles screamed with effort as they yanked on the string and tried to keep the bow balanced. In front of him, a target dummy that Castiel had designed. It was crude, yet... It had a certain adorable allure to it. Made of cloth and hay, it was made to look like a human. It was finished off with a knight's helm, and all of it was supported by two thick sticks, shaped like a cross.

Aiming for the head, he let go.

The arrow wooshed through the air, whistling loudly, and... Hit the wall directly behind the dummy. It smashed against the gray, cobblestone wall, and snapped in half. The fragments fell to the floor.

Blushing, Ebizio wanted to shove his head into the bushel of hay that was in the corner of the training yard. Grinding his teeth, he turned to face Christi Rosato. His heart was fluttering, his stomach leaping, his stubble bristling under the harsh movement of his jaw. "... I told you." he said, almost silent. "... I can't shoot an arrow." that had been one of the most embarrassing moments in Ebizio's life. The worst one was that time when he accidentally pissed himself in his bunk... But who could blame him? He was having horrible nightmares at the time. And he still did... "... I'll just go back inside."

"No," murmured Christi as Ebizio attempted to walk past her. Her hand planted firmly on his tight chest, and her blue eyes flashed up at him in the most aggressive manner than Ebizio had ever seen. "... String an arrow. You must learn this, Aguila."

"Why?" Ebizio barked loudly at her, his thick brow furrowing deeply. "All assassins need to know is how to hold and use a sword. How to hack off their enemies' heads. Not archery."

"Let us just say that you are upon a rooftop at noon. You are on a mission, and you see an assassin being held by two Templars as a third beats him half to death. The mission is to rescue the assassin by not drawing attention to yourself, and without allowing the assassin to die." Christi prodded him sharply. "What do you do?"

Ebizio thought for a moment. Grabbing a sword and rushing in there would draw attention, yes... The guards' screams and shouts as they fought back would bring more... And they would see him if he ran straight at them. If they did, they would kill the held assassin. Seeing her pompous smirk, Ebizio cleared his throat and looked away. "... I'd... Find a way..."

"No!" she smacked him on the arm, hard. Ebizio scowled and backed away. "What I'd do is take my bow and arrow, hide, and shoot the man hitting my brother straight in the head." she poked his forehead this time. "And then when the two other guards wonder where the arrow came from, I'd strike."

"They won't see it coming." Ebizio snarled out unwillingly as he rubbed his head.

"_Si_," Christi said. Her voice softened this time, and so had her face. "Now. String the arrow."

The training session was long and difficult. Ebizio was baffled by the cold winds and the stray rain shower that had hit them. When the rain started, he had said to go inside, but Christi denied his action. So he trained until mid afternoon, through cold and rain both, and until his fingers started to bleed heavily. He could not believe the pain that went through his fingers as he plucked the string again after stringing the arrow. He let go of the string and the arrow whizzed through the air once more... This time, it hit the dummy in the shoulder. Ebizio grinned crookedly at the wriggling arrow butt in the dummy. He had done it! He had finally done it... "... You see that?" he said wearily, motioning at the dummy with bloodied hands. "That is the work of a master."

Christi giggled loudly, and covered her smile with a hand. She had been standing under the shade of a tree some ways off, her arms crossed. "... Well, I wouldn't say the work of a master..." she admitted, her smile lighting up his world. "... Maybe the work of a proper and well disciplined apprentice." she walked closer and ripped the arrow from the "guard's" shoulder. Ebizio came close and helped her pick up the rest of the broken and shattered arrows that were scattered around the stone floor. "You'll be a great assassin one day, Ebizio." Christi's voice was far away, and when Ebizio looked up, she was across the courtyard, picking up stray arrowheads that had flown across the area. "I promise you that."

_Yes, but will I actually get to be a full assassin? Or will I die in some winter frost like Friedrich did?_

Ebizio raised his eyes toward Christi. Her smooth hips and ass was all he saw from this angle, and he couldn't say that he didn't like the view. As he picked up the rest of the wooden pieces, his mind started to roam. He thought of making wild and passionate love to Christi, grabbing hold of her and just... Just doing her. Just take her by the waist and fuck her...

"Ebizio?"

He noticed that he was staring at her. It was not the first time, but Christi was gazing at him back. That, too, wasn't the first time. Older assassins always told him that she was waiting for him to make a move, but he never did. Ebizio was always thinking about how a night with Christi could end up bad. When he pulled down his pants, she could laugh! Or tease at the faces that he made when he was on top of her. But the men kept on saying that Rosato had a crush on him forever, and that Ebizio should do something.

That was when he decided that he was going to man up. On that date. On January nineteenth, fifteen seventy!

"... Christi..." Ebizio strode up to her. She was waiting, like always. It surprised him that her head only reached to his chest, but she was a rather short woman anyway. It was still kind of awkward. Christi didn't know exactly how old she was, or so she told, but said she knew that she was in her early twenties. And Ebizio was only fifteen. "... Oh, Christi..." he took her into his arms, and kissed her. The woman stiffed in his grip, but melted after a moment. Her smell flooded him, her taste... His heart almost leapt out of his chest, and his mind was racing.

After a while, Christi took over the situation. Her tongue slipped into his mouth after a moment of his resistance, and she started to shove him toward the hay patch in the corner. Ebizio moaned, unused to the true and loving passion that Christi was giving him. Oh, someone would find them for sure. They were right _there-_

Before he knew it, he was planted on his back in the hay. Christi leapt on top of him, and the two wrestled in the soft cushion. The two moved on after a bit, and then came the undressing and the touching and the kissing and the licking and the sucking. Ebizio could not help but cry out her name at times, almost crying at the sheer emotion and pleasure that he was going through. He wanted to scream her name, to shout his love to her, to yell that he was Ebizio Aguila and he loved Christi Rosato to the world...

It was night when they were done. Crickets chirped in bushes, and stars glimmered down at them. Ebizio laid in the hay pile, bare as he was on his birthday and covered with hay. Christi was in the same situation, though her head was on his chest and she was breathing softly. "... I love you..." Ebizio whispered out. Christi looked up at him, and grinned softly. Leaning over, she kissed him on the lips, and murmured the same words. And for once in his life, Ebizio had forgotten about his father, about his mother, about his friend Rodrigo... And about Friedrich and brothels and drink...

All that there was in his world was _her._


End file.
